


Letters for You

by Dalzo



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Love Letters, ben practices calligraphy with Rey's name
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21630859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalzo/pseuds/Dalzo
Summary: She reads her name over and over, glazing over the neat calligraphy font with a parted mouth as recognition hits. Her thumb runs over the ink in wonder before peering over to glance back in the box.A quick, near-frantic search confirms that there’s over a dozen—all sealed and unopened, all with the same flourished script, all addressed to her.In which Rey finds all the letters Ben wrote to her when they were teenagers.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 25
Kudos: 236





	Letters for You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reylocalligraphy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reylocalligraphy/gifts).



It’s almost like stepping straight into her head—a room full of old distant memories; stored away, but not forgotten. 

Sunlight streams in through the one attic window, highlighting the dust particles that float angelically in the air. A musty scent persists in the atmosphere, hinting of old paper documents and—perhaps it’s just a sentimental wish—teenaged perspiration.

Everything about it is so undeniably familiar, an old longing surfacing with her quickening heartbeat. 

Rey’s eyes circle the cramped room, roaming over tattered cardboard boxes, shelves filled with books and trophies; lingering on the ratted beanbag in the corner (the one _he_ always had to help her out of because she sunk too deep and his laughter always inspired her own, limbs turning to jelly while her belly hollowed out, light as air). It hovers for a second, then another, until finally moving on. 

When her survey ends, Rey turns to the older woman still making her way up the dodgy stairs. Leia ignores the helping hand, beginning a scan of her own. 

“Jesus,” she mutters, a soft rasp barely audible, “where do we _even_ start?” 

“Who knows?” Rey laughs out. Leia wasn’t kidding when she said Han likes to keep things. 

_(Liked. He liked to keep things He’s gone, remember?)_

She swallows thickly, pushing that particular self-correction down under the surface. “I s’pose it doesn’t matter much.” Leia sighs heavily, sheepishly glancing back at Rey. "You start on the left side and I'll start on the right?" 

"Sounds like a plan." She nods, quick to get to work while her partner lingers and hesitates in front of the old stored goods. 

Rey can't imagine how hard it must be—her having to clean out her dead husband's things; to go through all the stuff he loved and cared for. Further still, she can barely comprehend how the one son they share together didn't bother to show up to the funeral. 

Maybe she should have expected it. He never calls or visits; there’s no communication at all, really. Hell, it almost seems like he doesn’t exist. 

Still...it was certainly a shock. 

“How much of this do you intend to keep?”

“Just what’s important.” There’s shuffling from behind, confirming that she’s started. Rey smiles. 

“To you or to him?” Rey pulls out an old comic set, turning to let her see. Leia’s gaze roams over, a small smile tugging at her lips. 

“Keep it.”

_To him, then._

They spend the next half-hour digging through the stacks of Han’s childhood; old model car memorabilia, popular comics during the 50’s, newspaper clippings from days of racing—so much of _him,_ still here. 

So far, most of the stuff remains in the ‘keep’ pile. Rey never thought Leia to be sentimental, but for Han...well, that makes sense. 

After clearing another box and dropping the collection of baseball cards into ‘keep’, she pushes on to the next. 

It’s packed tight—taped up real secure, almost like it’s _not_ supposed to be here; like it’s supposed to be sent away or moved. She frowns, turning to Leia. 

“Do you have a knife? A letter opener, even?” 

The lady in question stops her digging through a rusted toolbox, plucking up a screwdriver. “Will this do?” 

“Good enough.” Rey nods and it accepts, quickling tearing through tape. Unfolding the cardboard, her eyes narrow at the sight. 

Envelopes. Lots and lots of envelopes, sealed with something hiding inside. Gingerly, she plucks out the first, brows furrowing while flipping the letter in hand and—

_Rey._

She reads her name over and over, glazing over the neat calligraphy font with a parted mouth as recognition hits. Her thumb runs over the ink in wonder before peering over to glance back in the box. 

A quick, near-frantic search confirms that there’s over a dozen—all sealed and unopened, all with the same flourished script, all addressed to her. 

Her body loosen in one long exhale, eyes slowly turning back to the letter in hand. Rey chews on her cheek, hesitating. 

It’s _her_ letter. It’s _his_ writing. But he never gave it to her—never meant for her to read it. 

_But still,_ she reasons as curiosity churns in her gut. _It's mine._

A second later, Rey tears into the envelope, pulling out the paper inside, unfolding and smoothing it against her chest. 

Without preamble, she begins to read.

_Rey,_

_I upset you today. I made a comment about your_ ~~_shitty_~~ _parents. In my mind, there was nothing wrong with it. It was the truth. I wish you’d see that._

_But you cried. I hate when you cry. I hate it more when I’m the one who makes you cry._

_Seems like I do that a lot._

_You got mad after when I didn’t apologise_ ~~_and I still won’t_~~

_So here’s my apology. I know you’d prefer it in words, but I doubt I could say it. ‘I’m sorry’ seems so much easier to write down._

_Maybe that makes me a coward. Or an asshole. Both, probably. But I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry I made you cry. I’m sorry I can’t say it out loud. I’m sorry your parents were horrible—because they were horrible. No matter how much you want to deny it, they wronged you._

_They didn’t deserve you._ _And I’m sorry for that_

_I’m sorry this apology sucks so much. I hope it’s enough._

_I hope you forgive me. I need you too much for you to ignore me._

_Please forgive me._

Rey’s gawking—her mouth is open, eyes cartoonishly wide as she reads the letter a second time. For a moment, she has to remind herself to breathe because _when_ and _why?_

When was it written? Why wasn’t it sent to her? 

For a third time, Rey takes in the words. Then she sets it aside, quick to grab another and rip it open with rare impatience. 

_You’re angry again. I get why. I punched Poe and that pissed you off. Poe’s_ ~~_an intolerable piece of shit_~~ _your friend._

_I don’t think he sees you that way, though. Always saying ‘hi’. He wants more and he couldn’t be any more obvious and I won’t stand for it._

_He doesn’t deserve you._ _I ~~don’t either~~_

_I didn’t mean to do it. It just happened after he asked about you. It was shitty_ _~~but deserved~~ _ _and I’m sorry._

_I’m just looking out for you. In all the wrong ways, I know. But I can hardly think rationally when it comes to you._

_Please don’t stay pissed for long. You’re cute when you’re mad, but still…_

_I miss your laugh._

As if in response, Rey _does_ laugh. She laughs because it’s funny—him thinking Poe wanted more when he’d came out well over eight years ago, now in a very committed relationship with he best friend Finn. 

She laughs and wishes she could tell him _what_ was so funny; wishes he was here to share the laughter with, both curled up on the beanbag; wishes he never left.

But he did. He left with no answers. Until the third letter. 

_Mom’s threatening to send me away to Luke. That’s why I was angry at them. That’s why I complained._

_I want to tell you. So bad. But you wouldn’t understand, you never do. You’re always so_ _fucking_ _judgemental when it comes to me and my parents. I get why you get upset when I complain, but my parents aren’t saints_ ~~_just because they didn’t throw me away like garbage_~~

_For once, Dad’s on my side. He doesn’t want me to leave. It’s almost ironic, wanting me to stay but leaving all the time himself._

_Still. It’s nice to have him on my side._

_I don’t want to be sent away._

_I don’t want to be away from you._

Her brows furrow, a sharp pang hitting within her chest. This is...this revelation, it’s—

_Leia sent him away?_

Almost in wonder, Rey tilts her head to seek out his mother. She’s digging through a box, muttering softly to herself. She can only wonder why. 

Soon, the letters all blur into each other as she opens each and every one. Always an apology or an explanation; one that never got round to her in the year it mattered.

There are some stand outs, however:

The fifth wrote about how _annoyed_ he was after she smashed him in Mario Kart (he always was a sore loser), but how annoyingly pretty her eyes were when she boasted. The seventh was merely a rant about her agreeing to go on a date with some ‘senior asshole’ while the tenth was merely just her name in different calligraphy styles, not a blank space to be seen. 

They don’t seem to stop providing insight. They don’t seem to stop causing strife to her heart. 

When reaching the second-to-last, it confirms that _yes,_ he did get sent away. In that letter, the ink runs and is smudged—so many words lost in translation, never to be understood thanks to wet paper. 

Rey can only question if writing it brought Ben to tears. The thought makes her pause before opening the last letter. 

A minute or two passes before temptation wins and, _oh_ —

This one...it’s different—the tone, the mood—all so _undeniably_ different, lighting a fire under heated skin. She takes in his neatly written words with disbelief, reading such fine compliments.

He writes of her skin; how soft and smooth it seems, how he’d like to _feel_ it against his own. He writes of kissing her; of _dreaming_ about kissing her all over, describing all the places in rich detail. 

She can hardly breathe. This is all so...disorientating, even with the warmth pooling between her legs. 

It’s...It’s...It’s…

“Oh my,” There’s a soft rasp over her shoulder, Rey yelping before pressing the letter flat to her chest. She glances at Leia who merely raises a brow back. “You seem surprised?” 

“You’re not?!” She shouts, because this is all so unfathomable—Ben fantasizing about her body, her lips, her eyes and not knowing for years. 

“Not in the slightest.” Leia rolls her eyes, a smile twitching at her lips. “That boy couldn’t be any more obvious when it came to you. Everything else he _hid,_ but you… I don’t think he could manage even if he tried.” 

Rey frowns. She doesn’t understand. This is all so...shocking. They were just friends—they laughed together and argued and had disagreements; they ditched classes and got drunk together for the first time (an old bottle of Han’s whiskey) that ended in disaster, Rey holding _Ben’s_ hair back as he spewed in the toilet (he always grew his hair long to hide his ears; she liked his ears and always told him to cut it) while Han only laughed and laughed and called Lando to share the story. 

Nothing about their relationship seemed romantic or sensual, even. Sure, sometimes they stared at each other for too long after confiding about something deep and guarded. Sometimes they slept in the same bed and _snuggled_ because that was warm and nice and Rey just wanted to be held. Sometimes, she’d _wonder_ if it’d turn into something more but that was one side—always so one-sided that it hurt to think of and so she pushed it down, refusing to compromise their relationship by _feelings_ that would never be returned. 

But it wasn’t. And to learn it a decade on, years after he disappeared and never came back...yeah, that sucked. 

Before she can even realise what’s happening, tears begin to sting at her eyes. 

“Oh _sweetheart,”_ She murmurs, pulling her in for a hug while Rey’s hands rise up to cover her face. This isn't right—Rey should be comforting _Leia,_ who’s husband passed away less than three weeks ago. But even while thinking that, years and years of repressed emotion bubbles to the top and bursts out of her in fat, hot tears. 

“I didn’t know,” She whimpers. “And now he’s gone.” 

Leia rubs circles into her back, relaxing tensed muscles. “No one’s ever really gone.” She replies, ever so hopeful. 

Rey _wishes_ she was that strong—she used to think she was, but years of adulthood had only proved that everything _bad_ in her life never got revolved; she never dealt with the obvious issues that came with her upbringing. 

Ben tried to tell her that for so long to no avail. 

“How about this,” Rey sniffs into her shoulder, hunched down into her motherly embrace. “We’ll go downstairs. I’ll make you a cup of tea and a sandwich. After, if you feel like stretching your legs, we can take Artoo for a walk. How does that sound?” 

“Good,” She chokes out. “That sounds good.” 

“Great,” Leia pulls away to smile up at her, gently praying the letter away from her trembling hands and setting it back inside the box. “It’ll be nice to have a break.”

If only her mind could have a break from Ben. 

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday Catey!!! You deserve fluff, but,,,,yeah, i thought this was going to be fluffy, but you know me... THE ANGST just won't leave me alone <3
> 
> Hope you have an amazing day xx


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